Blow fair upon the deep?
She, bent on death, fell crime conceives,
And with tempestuous passion heaves:
And fly you not the net she weaves,
While yet ’tis time for flight?
With vessels all the sea will swarm,
And all the coast with flame be warm,
And fiercely glare the blazing brand,
If, lingering on this Punic land,
You meet the morning light.
Away to sea! a woman’s will
Is changeful and uncertain still.’
He said, and mixed with night.
From bed he springs with sudden leap,
And wakes his weary men:
‘Quick, rouse you, gallants! catch the gale:
Sit to the oar, unfurl the sail!
A god, commissioned from on high,
Commands us cut our cords and fly:
Behold him yet again!
Yes, gracious Power! whate’er thy style,
We gladly follow and obey:
O cheer us with propitious smile,
And send fair stars to guide our way!’
He said: his flashing sword outflew,
And shears the mooring-ropes in two.
From man to man the flame flies fast:
They scour, they scud: and now the last
Has parted from the shore:
You cannot see the main for ships:
With emulous stroke the oar-blade dips,
And sweeps the water o’er.
The Dawn on earth her freshness shed:
The queen from off her turret height
Perceives the first dim streak of light,
The fleet careering on its way,
And void and sailless shore and bay;
She smites her breast, all snowy fair,
And rends her golden length of hair;
‘Great Jove! and shall he go?’ she cries,
‘And leave our realm a wanderer’s mock?
Quick, snatch your arms and chase the prize,
And drag the vessels from the dock!
Fetch flames, bring darts, ply oars! yet why?
What words are these, or where am I?
Why rave I thus? Those impious deeds—
Poor Dido! now your torn heart bleeds.
Too late! it should have bled that day
When at his feet your sceptre lay.
Lo here, the chief of stainless word,
Who takes his household gods on board,
Whose shoulders safe from sword and fire
Conveyed his venerable sire!
O had I rent him limb from limb
And cast him o’er the waves to swim,
His friends, his own Ascanius killed,
And with the child the father filled!
Yet danger in the strife had been:—
Who prates of danger here?
A death-devoted, desperate queen,
What foe had I to fear?
No, I had sown the flame broadcast,
Had fired the fleet from keel to mast,
Slain son and sire, stamped out the race,
And thrown at length with stedfast face
Myself upon the bier.
Eye of the world, majestic Sun,
Who see’st whate’er on earth is done,
Thou, Juno, too, interpreter
And witness of the heart’s fond stir,
And Hecate, tremendous power,
In cross-ways howled at midnight hour,
Avenging fiends, and gods of death
Who breathe in dying Dido’s breath,
Stoop your great powers to ills that plead
To Heaven, and my petition heed.
If needs must be that wretch abhorred
Attain the port and float to land;
If such the fate of Heaven’s high lord,
And so the moveless pillars stand;
Scourged by a savage enemy,
An exile from his son’s embrace,
So let him sue for aid, and see
His people slain before his face;
Nor, when to humbling peace at length
He stoops, be his or life or land,
But let him fall in manhood’s strength
And welter tombless on the sand.
Such malison to Heaven I pour,
A last libation with my gore.
And, Tyrians, you through time to come
His seed with deathless hatred chase:
Be that your gift to Dido’s tomb:
No love, no league ’twixt race and race.
Rise from my ashes, scourge of crime,
Born to pursue the Dardan horde
To-day, to-morrow, through all time,
Oft as our hands can wield the sword:
Fight shore with shore, fight sea with sea,
Fight all that are or e’er shall be!’
How best to leave the life she hates.
Then to Sychæus’ nurse she cried
(For hers erewhile at Tyre had died),
‘Good nurse, my sister Anna bring:
O’er face and body bid her fling
Pure drops from lustral bough:
So sprinkled come, and at her side
The victims lead: you too provide
A fillet for your brow.
A sacrifice to Stygian Jove
I here perform, to ease my love,
And give to flame the fatal bed
Which pillowed once the Trojan’s head.’
Thus she: the aged dame gives heed,
And, feebly hurrying, mends her speed.
With bloodshot eyes, and sanguine streaks
Fresh painted on her quivering cheeks,
And wanning o’er with death foreseen,
Through inner portals wildly fares,
Scales the high pile with swift ascent,
Takes up the Dardan sword and bares,
Sad gift, for different uses meant.
She eyed the robes with wistful look,
And, pausing, thought awhile and wept:
Then pressed her to the couch, and spoke
Her last goodnight or ere she slept.
When Fate and Heaven were kind
Receive my life-blood, and remove
These torments of the mind.
My life is lived, and I have played
The part that Fortune gave,
And now I pass, a
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